Life Goes On
by Lady Grantham
Summary: Chapter 3: As Cora's pregnancy progresses, her relationship with Vera Bates continues to sour.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Dedicated to two of the loveliest people in fandom; my partner in crime, Scarlet Secret, and the greediest fic-reader I have ever known; This is the Bear.

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><p>A fortnight had passed; at least Cora <em>thought<em> it had been that long. It had been difficult to keep track: sleepless nights had flowed into miserable days and she'd passed each of them in a sort of stupor. Everything hurt, her body and her heart, and no matter how hard she tried to be brave for the girls she found herself quickly crumbling.

Had it really been that long? It seemed like only yesterday they were all cloistered in the library with Sybil performing some little ditty she had picked up from the governess. Mary and Edith had been, for once in their lives, blissfully quiet, and she and Robert had sat side by side, his hand in hers and their eyes meeting occasionally in the comfortable, affectionate sort of silence that only existed between lovers. There was pride in his smile, and love too, and in that moment Cora had never imagined anything could come between them.

And now Robert was dead.

The telegram still sat on her vanity table, its words cold and sterile and devoid of any feeling. He was one of many fallen soldiers, or so the papers said, killed not by a bullet or bayonet, but by _disease_. It was terribly unfair, but then death always was, and now she was left alone, a Dowager Countess at the age of thirty-two and with three young girls with no _idea_ what was going on and no heir.

"_Mama_!"

Cora closed her eyes. Was an hour of solitude really too much to ask for?

"Mary, please," Cora sighed, watching as Edith pulled her arm sharply away from her giggling sister.

"I didn't do anything, Mama. It's all _Edith's_ fault," Mary sneered.

"Is not! Mary—"

"_Edith_!"

Cora inwardly cursed herself for the sharpness of her voice. It wasn't Edith's fault that her mother was so exhausted she could barely stand and so miserable she would stay in bed all day if she didn't have so much to do, and she certainly hadn't been responsible for this particular argument. The painful looking spot of pink on Edith's arm attested to that fact.

She let out a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to rub at her temples to release some of the damned pressure, but nothing seemed to help. Certainly not sleep, but these days sleep was a luxury. "_Please_ girls. Would you argue so appalling in front of Papa—?"

Cora broke off, her voice choking at the look on the girls' faces. It was impossible to explain it to the girls. They were all too young, even Mary, no matter how worldly the nine year old considered herself to be, to understand that their Papa would never be coming back.

Cora had never been an especially fervent believer. She had always preferred to stay home and attend to the household duties rather than attend church with her family. Her Papa had once said if there really _was_ a god, a supreme, benevolent being up above with ultimate power over life and death, then why was there so much suffering in the world? The sentiment had stayed with Cora for the rest of her life and still lingered now, but lately, when she told her children that Papa was in heaven and watching over all of them, she couldn't help but want to believe it too.

"_Please_," she repeated after a long, mournful pause, and this time the children listened. The look on her own face was no doubt enough to persuade them this was neither the time nor the place for a sibling squabble, and after a moment she felt Edith's arms wrap tentatively around as much of her waist as they could manage. Blinking back tears, Cora looked down to Edith's soft red curls that were soon joined by a dark sheen of hair that nearly reached her chest. Mary had grown so much, but still had such a long way to go and Robert would miss it all now.

"My lady?" There was a tentative knock at the door, followed in quick succession by a head of dark, slicked back hair and the kindly face of Mr. Carson. "I apologise for disturbing you."

Cora shook her head, smiling with all the warmth she could muster and granting her children a final hug before disentangling them from her arms. Mary scampered quickly in the direction of the door – she always had bigger and better things to be doing – but Edith lingered for a moment, watching her mother with wisdom far beyond her years and Cora caved, leaning to press her lips to her forehead and not caring whether Carson saw. She and Robert had never hid their affection from the servant's and she refused to begin now. There was already enough misery in this house.

"Go and find your sister, darling," she whispered, kissing her one last time before Edith pulled back of her own accord and followed Mary's trail out of the room. It took Cora a moment to compose herself enough to face the no doubt _mountain_ of sympathy in Carson's eyes, but if there was one thing her Mama had taught her it was how to remain composed, even when crumbling from the inside out.

"Nonsense Carson, what can I do for you?"

"It's Mr. and Mrs. Bates, your ladyship."

Cora wracked her brains for a moment before she remembered John Bates' placid, un-extraordinary face and frowned in confusion. "What do they want- Oh."

The will. Goodness, she had only sent the telegram two days ago and here they were, in person, probably on the first train they could catch! She didn't know why she was so surprised; there was money involved, after all. The cynical, snobbish part of her sneered at the desperation of it, but whatever was left of the _real_ Cora didn't blame them. She had a rather generous inheritance and an estate outside Ripon to keep her comfortable. John Bates was out of work and out of pocket and her husband had been fond of him. A little charity wouldn't kill her.

"Tell them I'll be right down," she said.

Carson nodded, leaving her alone, and she took the opportunity to smooth down her skirts, checking herself briefly in the mirror and winced at what she saw. She had lost her maid three weeks ago – the poor woman had lost _her_ husband too – and it certainly showed. Her hair was askew, not at all how she usually liked it, and it was impossible to miss the shadows under her eyes. Sighing, she resigned herself to her wretched appearance and set off in the direction of the drawing room. Descending the stairs, she could already hear low mumbling from the couple, and soon spotted them standing stiffly in the middle of the room, the husband's hand clasped tightly around his cane and the wife's anywhere but supporting her husband. The tension in the room was obvious and the wife's irritation palpable, but Cora soldiered on. After this, all Robert's assets would be divided between family, and she would rather deal with Rosamund than two perfect strangers who had blatantly being arguing only a moment ago.

She straightened her back, clearing her throat imperiously and did her best to smile as the couple turned to face her. "Mr. and Mrs. Bates?"

"Yes, m'lady," Bates said immediately, practically standing to attention and offering his hand and Cora shook it reservedly. "John Bates."

Cora nodded. She remembered the man well enough from Robert's last visit to the house, but he hadn't had the cane then. Her eyes briefly darted to his leg before meeting Bates' earnest gaze. "I remember you, Mr. Bates. And your wife…"

She turned her attention to the wife and was momentarily surprised by the sharpness of the other woman's face. Mrs. Bates was undoubtedly quicker than her husband, she could tell that much already. Robert would have immediately assessed the woman as trouble but Cora couldn't help but be intrigued.

"Vera, m'lady," he responded.

Cora forced a tight smile. "Vera. Welcome to Downton."

There was a painfully awkward silence Cora didn't know quite how to fill. She would usually have no problem – she was a consummate hostess – but now there seemed no point in keeping up appearances or tiptoeing around the real reason John and Vera Bates were here.

"Shall we get on with it?"

Bates' nod was all she needed, and she quickly led the couple up to her husband's dressing room, avoiding the sight of the freshly pressed sheets that would never be disturbed again and instead took the opportunity to assess her companions. The husband looked harmless enough, sympathetic and respectful but the wife was altogether different and Cora quickly looked away as Vera met her gaze.

She cleared her throat. "Over here."

Leading the couple over to the cabinet by the window, the contents stared back at her almost tauntingly. She had never been particularly fond of Robert's snuff boxes but she hated them now, absolutely _hated _them, and the sooner they were out of the house the better. Still, she was releasing a part of him into the hands of utter strangers, one of whom seemed to be on the verge of committing some sort of atrocity.

She forced a smile. "I've never liked them myself but Robert was so fond of collecting the dreadful things, and I seem to remember your admiring them on your leave."

Bates blinked back at her in obvious confusion and Cora quickly put him out of his misery. There was no point in beating about the bush; the sooner this was over the sooner the Bates' would leave and right now she wantedthat even more than she wanted her husband back.

"He would have wanted you to have them. I have no use for them myself."

"You mean you're givin' them to us?"

It was the first thing the woman had said since the couple first got here, and that piqued Cora's curiosity, but only for a moment. Mrs. Bates had a pretty voice, almost lyrical albeit with a distinctly odd undercurrent, but the longer the couple stayed here the longer she would have to look at John Bates and his damned leg and remember how little he had suffered in comparison with _her_ husband. Mrs. Bates was barely looking at hers.

"That's what I said, Mrs. Bates. You can take them today or I'll have them delivered to your home…" she paused. "Wherever that might be. Either way they're yours."

"And there's no catch?"

Cora got the feeling there was very little this woman had been given in life without having to give something in return and she was impossibly rather glad to give her this one little thing, whether or not she looked like she might stab her at any moment.

"None."

The other woman assessed her for the moment with cold, keen eyes and Cora fought the urge to shift uncomfortably on the spot.

"I don't want snuff boxes," Vera said finally. "I want somethin' else."

Cora arched her brow. She found it remarkably generous Robert had written his batman into his will at all, but now his wife wanted something _else?_ Regardless, she couldn't deny she was curious. Part of her was even amused and she bit back the sardonic smile she could feel tugging at her lips. "Go on."

"I want a job. You're obviously in need of a lady's maid and 'm qualified and," she smirked slightly, "no offense m'lady, but you look like you need some help."

There was no doubt in Cora's mind that this woman was mad, and for that reason alone her first instinct was to send her packing and _without_ the snuff boxes, but something persuaded her to stop. She would be terrible with the children; she could already see her girls, all grown up and traumatised and turning to some experimental _psychologist_ to rid them of the emotional scars of being raised by a woman like Vera Bates, but perhaps she was judging her too harshly? There was a spark of something in the other woman that Cora couldn't help but like and Vera was right. She _did_ need a lady's maid, now that Moneypenny was gone.

"And _Mr._ Bates?"

She directed the question at the man by Vera's side, but she couldn't help but note the look of alarm on the wife's face and she nearly winced at her mistake. Was Vera trying to get _away_ from her husband? She hadn't looked at him once in the last twenty minutes and there was so much distance between their bodies they would need more than just a bridge to bring them back together. The Bates' marriage was truthfully nothing to do with the widow of an Earl but Cora felt the sudden urge to do _something_ to keep them together. Vera Bates might not like her husband very much right now, but what if he had died instead of Robert?

"I won't be staying at Downton Abbey," she continued. "Lord Grantham's cousin will be in charge of the estate until his son Patrick comes of age and our butler will be remaining here."

She looked briefly to the man's leg. It would be a hindrance, no doubt, but Newby Hall was considerably smaller than Downton Abbey and with nowhere near as many stairs. He would manage, with his wife's help.

"I'll need someone to run the house and Lord Grantham—" she broke off for a moment as her voice trembled traitorously. She straightened her shoulders, stiffening her back and avoided Vera's eyes, but she could feel them on her all the same. "Lord Grantham trusted you."

"How old are you?" Vera asked suddenly and Cora looked up, momentarily taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"I said; how old are you m'lady?"

The woman's voice bordered on insolent, and her husband clearly agreed, interjecting with a hiss of her name, but Cora quickly intervened. The initial shock of the question had passed – it would have been a different story if it had been asked of Rosamund – and only curiosity remained.

"No, I don't mind," she murmured, measuring up the other woman before granting her an answer. "Thirty-two."

Vera nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Too young to be a widow."

Cora sucked in a quiet breath. The words punctured through her defences and this time she couldn't prevent a tear from falling free. She wiped it hurriedly away but the damage had been done, but oddly enough there was nothing but sympathy in the other woman's eyes.

"Did you want the position or not, Mr. Bates?"

Bates' eyes darted briefly to Vera and Cora's eyes followed suit. There was no doubt the latter wore the pants in this particular marriage and Cora couldn't help but smirk, genuinely for the first time since she'd lifted her head from the pillow this morning.

"As long as you leave the snuff boxes here." Vera met Cora's eyes, and for a moment they shared a companionable smirk: the first of many perhaps, but only time would tell. "They're bloody _hideous_."

It was the most sensible thing anybody had said in days.


	2. Chapter 2

The move to Newby Hall was something of a rude awakening for the girls. They had lost their father, but until they were in the carriage and on the way to the estate which would serve as their home for the remainder of their childhood, not one of them had had any real conception of just how dramatically their lives would change. For one, their staff was severely depleted, and they would all simply have to make do with a lady's maid and housekeeper, both roles that fell to the ever cheerful Mrs. Bates, and her lame husband who played numerous roles within the house – all which he was utterly unsuitable for. Still, at least Bates was pleasant; rousing a smile from Vera was like drawing blood from a stone.

The woman was miserable, _insolent_, utterly unprofessional in every possible way, and yet Cora's reliance on her grew stronger every day. Mary despised her, and apparently suspected she was a witch, Sybil feared her, yet Edith had taken to her like a duck to water and she had caught the girl emulating her and saying 'bloody' on more than one occasion. She followed Vera around like a shadow, and Cora couldn't help but think that her own lack of responsiveness was responsible for Edith's hero worship of a woman who rarely granted her a smile but every day without Robert was another blow, and every night without him weakened her spirits further and try as she might, and _god_ she had tried, at least for the girls, she couldn't imagine how it could possible get any better.

"Drink this."

Vera being nicer to her perhaps?

Cora arched her brow, regarding the proffered tea-cup with suspicion concealed behind a carefully constructed mask of politeness. "What is it?"

Vera stared at her for a moment. "Tea."

Cora fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Thank you," she replied dryly, raising the cup to her lips and taking a sip. She spit it immediately back out. "What in god's name _is_ this?"

This time Vera smirked. "Tea."

"It's _foul_!"

"It's good for you."

"It tastes like sewage!"

"Is everything alright, m'lady?" Bates intervened. How he had heard them in the garden Cora would never know but there had been enough incidents like this in the month the Bates' had been in her employment for Vera's husband to exercise caution and his timing was, as usual, matchless.

"Her _ladyship_," Vera sneered her title with more than a little venom, "doesn't like her tea."

"_Nobody_ would drink this tea!" Cora protested – they were sounding more and more like Mary and Edith every single day – and Vera grit her teeth.

"_I_ drink it."

Bates snorted. Cora knew precisely what he was thinking and fought the urge to giggle herself; what Vera Bates did was hardly a sensible basis for comparison – that much she had learnt in the short time they had been together – but Cora quickly recognized the signs of a brewing marital dispute and clutched her tea-cup a little tighter. It would be dangerous in Vera's hands.

"Do you have something to say, John?"

Vera only ever called her husband John when she was angry, otherwise it was Johnny or sometimes Batesy, but the poor man wasn't particularly fond of the latter. There were other things Cora had picked up during the Bates' first month in service – besides the girls, they were her only source of entertainment – and she was _sure_ that John and Vera Bates had been in love once. She could see it as clear as day, and sometimes they remembered it too and there would be peace between them but it never lasted long. Had she ever even seen them touch? Anything more than a kiss on the cheek would have been inappropriate in front of their mistress, though Vera didn't care a jot for professionalism, but she couldn't even remember them holding _hands_. Something had happened, she supposed, to make them both so _bitter_, but Cora was yet to find out what.

"Nothing you'd care to hear," Bates retorted, with more than a little exhaustion in his voice, and Cora chose that particular moment to interrupt before things got too out of hand. The last thing she would tolerate was her children bearing witness to a full on domestic row!

"Vera, how is the new girl getting on?"

They had hired a housemaid recently, a pretty little thing from the village who on first sight had seemed indistinguishable from the usual young housemaid, but goodness they had been wrong. She was a sharp girl, with a nerve of steel and an appetite for hard work that had impressed even Vera. Lily Summer was _wasted _in a little house like Newby Hall, but she was hardly going to tell the girl that when she worked so splendidly here.

Vera looked startled by the change in conversation but Bates looked grateful, and Cora granted him a brief nod in response to his smile.

"She's...not bad." Vera very rarely offered praise, even when Edith had presented her with a daisy chain. She shrugged, but Cora could see right through her display of nonchalance. "'ve seen better."

She thrust the teacup back in Cora's direction with a pointed look. "Drink your tea. You'll need your strength."

Cora looked up quizzically, but Vera was already halfway towards the house.

"I apologise for Vera, m'lady, she—"

Cora quickly raised a hand to cut him off mid-sentence and gave him a reassuring smile. "There's no need Bates."

"But there _is_ a need. She's so sharp, so _hard_. She never used to be like this. She was warm once and I—" He broke off, breathing in slowly, and Cora waited patiently, with more than a little curiosity for him to continue. Bates finally gave a defeated shrug. "We were happy once."

"What happened?"

The words were out of Cora's lips before she could stop them, but Bates didn't seem especially offended, and she couldn't help being curious. The Bates' marriage was nothing short of an enigma she didn't think she would ever understand, but perhaps today she would get a little closer?

"Life. Grief." He looked uncomfortably down to his hands, as if recalling a memory so painful he regretted ever trying. "Loss."

"Loss?" Cora grimaced at how eager her voice sounded. She had just experienced loss herself; the least she could do was be sensitive to the loss of others. She changed tack, unsettled by the pain in Bates' eyes and smiled sympathetically up at him instead, reaching up to lightly squeeze his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be m'lady," Bates replied, blatantly banishing the memory and summoning up a smile instead. She had had her doubts about the man at first, but he had already proved himself utterly dependable and unfailingly consistent: the same couldn't be said for his wife. "I should go and speak to my wife."

"No." Her lips curled up in a brief smile. The last person Vera would want to see right now was the man who had sent her storming off in the first place. "Really Bates, you know nothing about women do you?"

Bates couldn't help but smirk at that. "Vera is no ordinary woman."

Cora found Vera in the nursery, gathering toys together on her hands and knees and dropping them into the toy chest with more than a little aggression. She winced as Sybil's prize doll followed the rest with an audible thump and for a moment she considered retreating altogether. Vera certainly wasn't in the mood for a friendly chat, but she could hardly leave poor Bates to deal with his wife later without even trying to soothe her temper. It was beginning to become something of a pattern. The Bates' would argue, Cora would attempt to intervene, Vera would (hopefully) calm down and there would be peace for a few hours before Bates inevitably said the wrong thing, as men were want to do. Robert had been the same, able to provoke anger from her with some silly, insensitive comment that would seem like nothing in retrospect. She would give anything to hear one of Robert's silly remarks now, even if he _did_ imply she was gaining weight. Didn't Vera realise how lucky she really was?

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><p>"There's no need, Vera," Cora began, smiling with all the warmth she could muster as Vera looked up to meet her eyes. "Lily can attend to that."<p>

After a moment, Vera looked down, resuming her attack on her daughters' playthings. "Lily already has enough on her plate as it is."

The words were pointedly sharp, as if she herself was being held responsible for the girl's workload, but Cora chose to let it slide given Vera's current state of mind.

"At least let me help," she tried again.

Vera snorted, and Cora couldn't help but bristle at the implication. For the last month she had done her best to make things easier for the staff – she had hired a chauffeur to save Bates having to learn to drive with his injured leg, she had hired Lily to take some of the pressure off Vera, and she hadn't let the children's governess go when it really did make perfect financial sense for Vera to fulfill those duties too. They had survived so far on a staff made up of John and Vera Bates, with a housemaid, a governess and a limited kitchen staff made up of a cook – she had stolen Mrs. Patmore from Downton of course – and kitchen maid that doubled as scullery maid. She was not a slave driver, and she cared deeply for the welfare of those that worked and lived at Newby Hall and for goodness sake, Vera had _asked_ for a job in the first place!

"I can manage to tidy away a few toys, m'lady."

"I'm sure you can," Cora muttered dryly, and lowered herself into a nearby chair. She could feel a headache brewing, a common side effect of doing battle with Vera, and raised her hand to absently rub her temples.

Vera, as usual, noticed immediately – the woman never missed a thing – and eyed her keenly over the dolls house she was roughly gathering together.

"You'd better go an' lie down. You should be takin' better care of yourself."

It was the second time in the space of half an hour that Vera had said something to that effect and Cora shifted self-consciously as the other woman met her gaze.

"Has the doctor confirmed it, m'lady?"

Cora opened her mouth to attempt to deny it, to ask what on earth Vera meant even though she knew perfectly well, but the look on Vera's face forced her to reconsider and she offered the other woman a weak smile. "Yes."

She had intended to tell her of course, but not yet. Robert had only been _dead_ a month and Cora had never expected this: she hadn't wanted it either, not like this, but it had happened and all she could do now was make the best of it.

"Did you know before he died?" Vera asked after a minute of silence, and Cora looked down to her hands, smiling sadly as she answered.

"No. He was due home a week after it happened. I would have told him then, had he made it home."

"I don't mind bein' your housekeeper and your maid." Cora raised a doubtful eyebrow and opened her mouth to interject but Vera quickly cut her off. "But one thing I'm certainly not is a nanny and I don't intend to start bein' one now."

Cora tried her best to swallow the bubbling irritation; she had never been a harsh mistress, but she had never had to deal with this kind of insolence before and the last thing she needed right now with Robert buried a month and a half ago and a goddamn _baby_ on the way was an _astounding_ lack of sympathy and attitude from Vera Bates.

"You'll do precisely what I ask you to do," she responded sharply. "Or I'll find somebody else to do it in your place. Is that clear?"

Vera responded initially with insolent silence, but the surprise in her eyes was unmistakable. Cora felt a pang of guilt in response, but she could hardly let her lady's maid run rings around her, no matter how fond she was of the woman.

"Is that _clear_, Mrs. Bates?" she reiterated and watched as Vera hardened in response.

"Crystal, m'lady."

Cora held the other woman's eyes for a moment, but looked away when the intensity of Vera's gaze became too much for her to tolerate and she stood up imperiously from her chair, smoothing her skirts down with her palms.

"I'm going to take your advice and rest. Please wake me in time to prepare for dinner."

She didn't wait for the inevitable "yes, m'lady" but heard it muttered over her shoulder as she left the room with the same derision she had seen reflected in Vera's eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're still sulking."

Vera scowled up at her husband, looking for all the world like a petulant child.

"Why would I be sulkin'?"

Bates sighed. Between Vera and her ladyship it has been an exhausting few days. He couldn't remember the last time Vera had undressed the Countess. Even if her ladyship _had_ rung the bell he doubted his wife would have bothered answering and perhaps it was for the best? Time healed, didn't it? And perhaps the distance had done them both some good. He couldn't pretend to know what had happened between them and Vera wouldn't tell him even if he _asked_, but no wound was irreparable: even he and Vera were doing better lately.

"Your fight with her ladyship—"

Vera glared up at him from her chair.

"I don't care about her ladyship." She might as well have stuck out her tongue. "She can bugger off for all I care."

Bates sighed "His lordship's cousin'll be here any minute."

"So?"

Bates finally snapped. His patience had been wearing thin and there was only so much even _he_could take, even after fifteen years with Vera Flynn. He had been through hell in South Africa - he wasn't going to live through it here at Newby Hall!

"Jesus Christ Vera, you can't stop being professional just because you and her ladyship have had a _fight_." Vera opened her mouth to retort but John cut her off abruptly. "You have a job to do – a job you_ asked_for."

"I didn't ask for this!" Vera interjected crossly.

She sighed lightly.

"She's my friend," she stumbled over the word, "in one breath and my employer in another, like there's some invisible barrier between us when she bloody well wants there to be. How am I supposed to keep up?"

Bates reached decisively for his wife's hand. He would have exercised far more caution when touching her before, but things were different now. Slowly and surely, things were becoming different.

"You're not supposed to. We're in service Vera – it's not supposed to be easy, but her ladyship has been good to us. She _ha_s been a friend to us. It could be worse."

"Why are you and Mama fighting?"

Bates and Vera snapped their attention to the doorway and were greeted by the sight of young Lady Edith Crawley staring guilelessly up from the doorway. Vera fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Because your Mama is a—"

Bates sent her a withering glance.

"All grown-ups fight," she said instead, with obvious awkwardness. Why this little girl had become so attached to her she would never know – she didn't have a maternal bone in her body, but Edith actively sought her out regardless. Still, she _supposed_she was rather fond of her. She wasn't half as irritating as her elder sister at any rate.

"Just like children," Edith pointed out insightfully and Vera fought the urge to smile. The girl was smart too.

Bates smirked. "That's right, my lady."

Edith tilted her head curiously. "When will you stop fighting?"

When her ladyship stopped being such an arrogant cow?

"I don't know," Vera said finally, opening her mouth to elaborate as Edith all but climbed into her lap - seriously, what had she ever done to warrant such bloody hero worship? - but heard the bell ring downstairs instead.

Bates met Vera's eyes pointedly. "That must be Lady Flintshire."

Vera sighed, shrugging after a moment and ushering Edith off her lap as she stood.

"S'pose I better get the tea then."

John smiled slightly, prouder of her than he remembered being for some time. "That's my girl."

And it was the first time he had called her _that _in years.

* * *

><p>"I have to say, my dear, I was surprised to hear." Susan Flintshire delicately arched an eyebrow. "Auntie Violet was convinced your breeding days were quite over."<p>

Cora repressed the urge to sigh. Ten minutes alone with her husband's cousin and she was quite ready to bash her head against the nearest wall. It was usually the way with Susan - she was so like her Aunt that it was unnerving sometimes, and, like her mother-in-law, Lady Flintshire seemed to find mocking her heritage something of a sport. But today's crime was not being American: no, today it was her pregnancy that was up for scrutiny and Cora pressed one hand protectively against her stomach.

"Was she now?"

"Although it's hardly miraculous," Susan continued, quite indifferent to the other woman's discomfort. "You're still _fairly_young after all."

Susan's tone suggested otherwise. Cora sipped her tea tartly. "That's kind of you to say."

She looked up briefly as the door opened and watched as Vera entered the room. For a moment there was a flicker of their former solidarity, a tiny shared smirk that made her feel marginally more at ease, but it was gone as quickly as it had come and Vera averted her eyes.

Friends, her foot. The Countess of Grantham was friends with women like Lady Flintshire, not lady's maids, though she didn't seem to be particularly pleased about this visitor and Vera had heard her complain about Susan Flintshire before: glancing at the woman now, Vera wasn't surprised. A grown woman should _never_wear so many feathers. She ducked her head, determined to stick to her promise and remain professional, and laid the fresh pot of tea on the table.

"I'm sure it won't be a boy though." Susan remarked, with a dubious sniff of her tea. "You've never managed to produce one of those and after all of your problems with Sybil—"

"Perhaps this time," Cora interjected diplomatically. Her cheeks ached with the effort of maintaining her smile, but the last thing she needed was Susan Flintshire running back to her mother-in-law and reporting on the American's barbarian lifestyle.

"Oh I doubt it, my dear," Susan patted the other woman's hand with condescending airiness. "I'm not sure you have it in you."

"Who cares if it _is_a girl, anyway?"

"_Vera_."

Vera bit her tongue. Cora's voice was enough to temper her irritation for now but the Countess had had enough of this when her husband had been alive: what did it matter now he was _dead_?

Susan pursed her lips in bemusement. "Your maid is very protective, Cora. Wherever did you find her?"

Relieved, Cora's eyes darted back to Susan.

"Her husband was Robert's batman in the war."

"His _batman_?" Susan laughed. "Goodness. He obviously wasn't very _good_at his job—"

"My husband did just fine thank you very much," Vera hissed. Cora might be willing to let this awful woman make fun of _her_ but she would _not_ get away with doing the same to John! Not in front of _her_. "It's not John's fault his lordship got himself killed."

"Vera!" Cora snapped. It was the worst thing Vera could have said: memories of Robert stirred so suddenly Cora was almost overwhelmed by them and she forced back tears with the same ferocity she clenched her fists by her side. "That is _enough._You're not here to comment, you're here to do your—"

"My _job_?" Vera scoffed. _Friends, her foot._ They were back to _that_ nonsense already, after Vera had _defended_her and this time she willingly forfeited her self-restraint, sod the consequences. "And what exactly is my job, m'lady? To listen to silly cow's like her critique your reproductive system and badmouth my husband?"

"Yes!" Cora replied furiously. "That is exactly your job – to do whatever I _tell _you to do. You are my _lady's maid _and I expect you to remember that."

She sucked in a quiet breath, pressing her hand to her stomach and Vera had to fight the urge to run to her side. It was only a kick—nothing especially sinister but she worried about Cora's health every second of the day. She straightened her shoulders, scowling but keeping quiet.

"You're dismissed, Mrs Bates. I'll ring the bell when I need you."

* * *

><p>Vera dutifully laid Cora's clothes over the back of her chair. She had done this a hundred times now she could do it in her sleep but tonight things were different. Her body <em>ached<em> with the tension of this afternoon's encounter, but at least Lady Flintshire was gone. The Marchioness had left with alarming haste following her 'shocking treatment' at the hands of her cousin's maid and Vera couldn't pretend to be displeased. She had insulted _John_ after all and nobody did that but her! But the prickly silence between her and Cora had been almost unbearable since then and she wondered whether it had been worth it after all, but she had partly done it for _her_, hadn't she? Women like Susan Flintshire were usually easily ignored until they went away, but the things she had been saying about Cora...

She snapped herself back to the present at the sound of bathwater splashing onto the floor.

"Do you want to get out, m'lady?"

She glanced around the door, dismayed to see her mistress' face quite unchanged: her expression was still set in stony displeasure and she sighed to herself as she moved into the bathroom. She could feel an apology on the tip of her tongue but she refused to be so bloody weak.

"Yes. Please."

Bloody hell. The coldness in Cora's voice was the last straw and she swallowed her pride as she wrapped the towel around the Countess' skinny body—she was _much_too thin for a pregnant woman.

"M'lady, about earlier—"

Cora quickly cut her off. "I put a considerable amount of faith in you when I gave you this job, Vera. I'm wondering now whether I was wrong to."

Vera bristled. "Did you hear the things she was sayin'? She deserved to be put in her place!"

"But not by you," Cora retorted, tightening the towel around her body and moving delicately over the sodden floor. Vera fought the urge to roll her eyes: honestly, she had no idea what her ladyship did to get the bathroom floor so wet. But that was the least of her concerns now.

"Why the bloody hell not?!" she said. "She blamed my husband for your husband's death! Why should I listen to that?!"

"Because it's your job!"

That was it. She'd had enough of this nonsense.

"My _job_," she clenched her fists by her sides, blood pumping and gritting her teeth - if she had been John she would have had a slap around the face by now, but she didn't want to hurt Cora, even now. "If you say that one more bloody time, I'll swing for you myself."

Cora laughed sharply. "If you're looking to be dismissed, you're certainly going the right way about it!"

"_Fine_," Vera hissed. "You want my resignation? You've got it m'lady. I told John I'd try and I've tried harder to please you than I've ever tried to do _anything_."

She broke off, feeling disturbingly emotionally unstable and for _what_? Cora was no better than the rest of them after all!

"John and I will leave tomorrow, on the first train to London." Her lips curled up into a sneer. "You can keep the snuff boxes."

Cora's eyes widened. "Wait. Vera—"

"Oh _now_ I'm Vera? I thought it was _Bates—_I thought we were being _professional_."

"But I don't want you to _leave_."

"Well too bloody late! Good luck running this house by yourself—you'll need it."

"_Vera_!"

Cora reached out, grasping for Vera's forearm and clutching her towel tightly with the other hand, but Vera refused to give in now. She was positively _pulsing_ with anger and she shrugged off the other woman's grasping fingers, nudging her back for good measure but utterly misjudging her strength. She had always been a strong woman - she had given Bates a shiner or two to be proud of in their fifteen years together, but Cora was not John Bates and she might as well have _shoved_the Countess across the room.

Vera watched the next moment unfold in silent horror.

Cora slipped, falling backwards and grasping desperately for the edge of the bathtub but it was just as slippery as the floor. She fell, fast and hard, and with a cry that Vera would remember for the rest of her days.

The Countess hit the floor with a dull thud.


End file.
